This is how we end?
by Scifiroots
Summary: Greg's Thoughts as the end approaches. GilGreg


_This is how we end?_

Clarity Scifiroots  
Disclaimers apply.  
Pairing: Gil/Greg  
Summary: Greg's thoughts as the end approaches. Written as part of auabc's challenge, this is for "apocalypse."

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What better place to be than Las Vegas when the end of the world was coming?

Okay, so maybe he would like to be in Paris or Bangladesh or Cairo or Buenos Aires—someplace different, someplace "exotic" and foreign to him... But Las Vegas! Better than most options in the United States.

"Greg... Greg...?"

He turned his head to acknowledge his lover standing a few feet away. "Hey," he greeted softly.

"What were you thinking about?"

Greg went back to staring outside at the brightly-lit night—city lights shining bright in spite of current events. "I was thinking...how glad I am that we're here—and where I would have liked to visit before I died."

Gil's arms wrapped around him in tight embrace. Greg caressed his lover's hands gently, comfortingly. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault!" Greg said in exasperation. He squeezed Gil's hands and leaned his head against Gil's.

"It shouldn't be like this. We should have left long ago, moved into the country so that—"

"That's exactly what I don't want!" Greg protested, breaking the embrace so that he could turn around and face his lover. "Listen to me." He licked his dry, cracked lips. "I'm glad that we're here—in a major city and _not_ in the country for that reason." His heart ached to see Gil's tortured expression. "Maybe it's cowardly, but I'm so damn glad that we're among the first hit. Then everything will be done. We don't have to wait or be left in the dark, ignorant until the very end. I want to be here with you and with our friends." He stopped, thoughts of his family bringing the burn of tears to his temples.

Gil kissed him, desperately. His lips were just as dry as Greg's and the rough meeting made the cracks start to bleed. They ignored the tang of copper as they clung desperately to one another. Greg wished he had the words to explain why he felt as he did. It was important to him that he lived his final days in what had been his home for nearly twenty years; among his friends; with his lover.

Gil tugged off Greg's soft sweater—the only thing that didn't irritate his recently tender skin—and undid the drawstring of his pants. Greg followed his lead, smoothing his hand along his lover's stomach before pulling off Gil's sweater and starting on his pants.

"I love you," Greg whispered, pressing against his lover's body tightly. God, he wished Gil could read his mind and just _see_ what he meant.

"I know," Gil murmured, pressing his lips against Greg's neck.

The soft jersey sheets felt refreshingly cool against Greg's back as he let himself be guided by his lover. His skin burned and itched almost everywhere, impossible to completely ignore. Why couldn't he just have one more perfect moment? Damn it, just for an hour he'd like to simply be with his lover and forget about the pain, the beginning, and the end.

Gil kissed every inch of his lover's body with care. Greg refused to close his eyes, replacing the pain he felt with the love he could see in Gil's actions. They'd had eleven years, he thought, and that wasn't too bad. Sara had found herself with Nick a couple of years before that; Warrick had married a few years later. But Catherine had been engaged only as of a few months ago. Greg's vision blurred with tears, remembering the solemn ceremony held the day before—an attempt to create a physical symbol of a spiritual tie.

His tears were kissed away as Gil shifted his body so that he was blanketing Greg. "I love you," he murmured.

Greg closed his eyes. "If there's another chance... if we have another life, I want to be with you..." he whispered. "I'm yours."

The morning sun revealed the bruise-colored sky. Its sickly light filtered into the bedroom where Gil Grissom lay on top of the sheets, naked and still. The shower had been turned on in the bathroom but Greg wasn't there. Standing in the kitchen, Greg stared numbly at the refrigerator door. He wore only a sweater—Gil's, not his—but didn't notice the chill of the apartment. Outside he could hear the familiar chorus of car alarms going off.

No big bang, he thought.

"Just a whimper," he murmured, shaking fingers wrapping around the phone. He dialed the numbers without thought, the words "One down" waiting on his chapped lips. It was only a matter of time.

Fin

I'm thinking biological warfare. p


End file.
